Apocalypse Crucible Read Online Free PDF Page A

pavement turned silver in front of him, becoming a two-dimensional surface that seemed fragile. His shadow stretched black and long across it, a scarecrow caricature of a man.
    Hope lifted Delroy’s spirits as he turned to face the vehicle coming slowly down the highway, but the feeling ebbed away almost as soon as it appeared. Fear lingered inside him that the thing he was certain followed him could be driving the vehicle. At times, the thing had chosen to resemble a human being, which it definitely was not.
    Anxious, Delroy stepped from the roadside, retreating to the trees that he had feared only a moment ago. Since he’d left U.S. 231, no vehicles had traveled Highway 111 in either direction. He couldn’t help but be suspicious of the one that closed in on him now.
    The vehicle turned out to be an ancient Chevy pickup—early fifties, Delroy guessed—with blistered paint and a sticking valve that gave the engine a distinct clatter. Ruby beams glowed from the taillights as the pickup slowed to a halt in front of Delroy.
    Wooden sideboards lined the truck bed, scarred from heavy use. Yard equipment—shovels, hoes, and rakes—stood in a neat row along the starboard side, held securely by clamps. A flicker of lightning revealed the white hand-lettering against the dark green paint of the passenger-side door. LUTHER’S YARD WORK. Smaller lettering below declared BY THE JOB OR BY THE HOUR.
    Weak amber console light shimmered over the ancient black man seated behind the large steering wheel. He looked small and starved, clad in bib overalls. A ragged straw hat festooned with fishing lures covered his head.
    The old man stared at Delroy through the window, then leaned across the seat and cranked the glass down. Lightning flared again, showing the pink of the man’s tongue and the rheumy yellow of his eyes.
    “Boy,” the old man said in a hoarse voice, “you plan on standing out in that there rain all night? Why, I reckon that’d be a foolish thing for a growed man to do.”
    “Sir?” Delroy was taken aback. Decades had passed since someone had addressed him as boy.
    The old man crossed his wrists on the steering wheel and leaned forward. He shook his head sorrowfully. “Ain’t nobody never teach you when to come in outta the rain? That was one of the first things my momma done went and taught me.”
    “Aye, sir,” Delroy responded out of respect to the man’s age.
    “Come ahead on then,” the old man said. “You’re gonna catch your death standin’ around out there in all that cold and wet.”
    “Aye, sir.” Still a little numb with surprise, Delroy shrugged out of his backpack and approached the pickup. The saturated ground of the small incline gave way as he walked toward the road’s shoulder.
    The pickup’s wipers moved back and forth across the windshield like an arthritic metronome. The rubber blades pushed water over Delroy.
    He stood in the open doorway of the truck and tried to kick the mud from his boots. He didn’t want to drag any more problems than he had to into the cab. The grime, at least, he could try to wipe off. John Lee Hooker blasted through one of his defiant, upbeat tunes on the dashboard radio, his voice seasoned by whiskey and a knowledge of heartbreak.
    “Step up on in here, boy,” the old man advised. “That mud you got on them boots, ol’ Betsy, she’s seen worse. She’s a workin’ gal. Ain’t no gentrified lady what watches her skirts none too close.” He patted the weather-cracked dashboard affectionately. “Me an’ this ol’ girl, why, we been together a lotta years. Gotten right comfortable with one another, we have.”
    Still feeling a little reluctant, Delroy swung into the vehicle. The pickup leaned hard to the passenger side as his weight hit the seat.
    “My, my,” the old man said, his eyes widening, “you are a big ’un.”
    Despite the fatigue and the tension that warred with the anxiety inside him, Delroy smiled. He’d endured comments about his